


Hearts Purrloined

by JennaFlare



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaFlare/pseuds/JennaFlare
Summary: "I don't need your cat to like me, James.""Well, maybe I do. Maybe I'd like to be able to sit next to the fire with both youandmy cat and not youormy cat.""You'll need to bring that up withhim," Francis said, taking a sip from his tea. "I've no problem sitting all together."(In which James adopts a cat that is not so much a fan of Francis)
Relationships: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	Hearts Purrloined

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to my best friend in the whole world! I hope u like this <3
> 
> Title is from my sister, incorrigible punster that she is. Thanks Z.

Francis was seated in his armchair beside the fireplace the first time he heard it. It was a soft, high-pitched wail that he perceived just barely over the crackle of fire in the hearth. His eyes leapt instantly from his book as he scanned the room for the source of the sound. James sat across from him in an armchair of his own, reading that morning's paper.

"Did you hear that?" Francis asked. James looked up and met his gaze.

"Hear what?"

Francis waited to see if the sound would come again. When he had sat for half a minute with James looking at him expectantly, Francis said,

"It was a—" The sound came again and Francis jabbed the air with his finger. “That!”

James frowned and glanced around without moving. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“It’s—it almost sounds like a cry. Like a baby’s cry.”

“Perhaps one of our neighbors had a baby,” James suggested, returning to his newspaper.

Francis scoffed. “Which one? Widow Dashwood? Or Mister Bardwell and Mister Witty?”

“I believe Mister Bardwell has a married sister; perhaps she is visiting.”

The soft, plaintive wail came again.

“You must have heard that,” Francis said, but James simply lifted his eyebrows apologetically and shook his head. “It sounds like it’s inside our flat, James. Coming from over there.” He gestured in the direction of James’ bedroom door.

“Are you quite certain?” James asked lightly, setting aside his newspaper. “Then I shall check in my rooms to see if a baby has found its way in somehow.” He stood and made his way to his bedroom.

“You mock me, but there is _something_ making that sound, James.” The sound came again. “You cannot tell me you do not hear it.”

“I hear nothing, Francis, but I will check to humor you.” 

James entered his room, opening the door just wide enough for him to slip inside and shutting it immediately after. Francis heard the low tones of James’ voice, far too quiet to make out anything other than the soft melody of his soothing voice, and after a few moments, James returned to the sitting room. He spread his hands as he returned to his seat.

“No baby,” he reported. “It must be outside, or in a neighbor’s flat.”

There were no more soft wails heard the rest of the day, so Francis let it be.

A couple days later, when Francis returned home from an afternoon walk, the flat at first appeared empty. Rather odd, because James had not mentioned any plans to be removed from home before Francis returned. After passing by James’ bedroom door, though, Francis heard James’ voice coming from within. He paused there for a moment.

“Well,” James said in a soft, almost adoring tone, “you are an exceedingly silly boy, aren’t you?” There was a _thunk_ as of some object falling to the ground, accompanied by James’ laughter. Francis raised his eyebrows and leaned closer to the door. "You aren't supposed to be on the desk; though I suspect you must be rather bored cooped up in here."

With narrowed eyes, Francis knocked on the door. James stopped speaking immediately, and Francis heard him moving about before he came to the door. He opened it just wide enough that his face was in full view, but his body blocked Francis from seeing inside.

“Welcome back, Francis. I did not hear you come in.”

“Rather too busy talking to yourself?”

James’ eyes slid away from Francis and into his bedroom, then back to Francis. He smiled tightly. “Rehearsing a story. I prefer to do so when you are out so as to avoid your sharp tongue on the subject of my tales.”

Francis raised his eyebrows. “And who is the ‘silly boy,’ in this story of yours?”

James’ face flushed and his eyes cast about as if in search of a plausible answer. “You, obviously.”

“Got up onto your desk lately, have I?”

James’ blush deepened and he ducked his head in an attempt to hide his expression. “Eavesdropping, Francis? I’d have thought that below you.”

Francis inclined his head towards James. “Not when my friend is hiding something in our home.”

James sighed and relented, pulling the door open the whole way. There, on James’ writing desk, sat a large brown tabby cat with huge green-yellow eyes, its pupils blown wide as it stared, stock-still, at Francis.

Francis regarded the cat, and the cat regarded Francis. Francis glanced at James, who was studiously looking anywhere other than at Francis or the cat. Francis began to laugh, then. James looked over at him, and he began to laugh as well.

“James, why do you have a cat?” Francis asked through his laughter.

“I found him, not far from our door. He was cold and cried at me as I walked past; I felt obligated to help him however I could." James approached the cat and held out a hand that was eagerly sniffed. The cat pushed his striped head into James' cupped palm, and James dutifully stroked between his ears and under his chin.

"How long has he been covertly living in your bedroom?"

"About a week." James flashed a grin at Francis over his shoulder. "I couldn’t believe it took you so long to notice him meowing.”

“Well, he is fairly quiet. His meows are, at any rate. Was he the cause of those noises I heard last night?”

James nodded. “Yes. He likes to knock everything off of my desk the moment I take my eyes from him.”

“Maybe he would be less likely to do so if he had a little more space to roam.”

“Perhaps. But I think he is a rascal that would only delight in more things to knock over.”

“So he is to be caged within your bedroom? The poor fellow.”

James laughed. “Are you siding with the cat? I only kept him in here for your benefit.”

“I’m only saying that being trapped in your room must be a sad existence, especially when there are so many things in the sitting room he would delight in knocking onto the floor.”

“Then I shall let him roam, shall I?”

Francis shrugged. They were both smiling; James broadly, and Francis sedately. “It’s only humane.” He looked again at the cat; he was a large tom, covering most of James' once neatly piled paper with his seated form. He glanced between the cat and James a couple of times before he finally asked, "Well, what's his name?"

"Junior. Come here, he likes to be petted," James said, motioning Francis over with a wave of his free hand.

Francis began to approach, but his first step into the room sent Junior sprinting under the bed so quickly that he was nearly a blur. Francis laughed, unbothered by the cat's reaction, but James looked genuinely disappointed.

"He's always been so friendly to me," he mused quietly, kneeling down to look underneath his bed. He held out a hand, and Francis spied Junior's nose poke out from beneath for a moment before darting farther back. James sat back on his heels, frowning deeply.

"It's alright," Francis reassured. 

"He probably only needs to get used to you," James reasoned. "You're really alright with him having free reign of the flat?"

"I don't know about 'free'—I'll certainly be keeping my door closed—but your room alone isn't much space for the lad."

James nodded and smiled his thanks. 

After a few days' time, it became apparent to Francis that he and Junior would never like each other. Junior was skittish when it came to Francis, and would usually bolt from the room to hide under James' bed any time Francis walked too close. Francis, for his part, wasn't inclined to care too much. He harbored no ill feelings for the cat, but neither was he well-disposed towards it. This neutrality did not sit well with James.

One afternoon, Junior had been nestled comfortably on James' lap, and the moment Francis crossed from the kitchen into the sitting room, he bolted from his spot, digging his claws into James' legs and drawing from him a grunt of pain.

"The two of you need to bond," James said, rubbing at the place on his thigh where Junior's claws had sunk in. Francis handed James a cup of tea and sat down with a cup of his own.

"I don't need your cat to like me, James."

"Well, maybe I do. Maybe I'd like to be able to sit next to the fire with both you _and_ my cat and not you _or_ my cat."

"You'll need to bring that up with _him_ ," Francis said, taking a sip from his tea. "I've no problem sitting all together."

"Perhaps you could feed him tonight," James suggested.

Francis squinted at James, unsure if this was a serious suggestion. "Why?"

"He might like you better if he smells you on his food."

"Or he might not eat." Francis considered for a moment. "Or decide to eat me."

"I'm sure you could protect yourself against him, he hardly weighs over a stone."

"Certainly I could, but I'd rather not hurt the lad; you are rather fond of him."

James sighed and sat back in his chair. Thinking the conversation was done, Francis picked up his book to continue reading and got through three sentences when James said,

"You could offer him some treats."

Francis laughed and let the open book drop into his lap. "Treats?"

"Yes," James said with a serious nod. "As a means of ingratiating yourself to him." He rolled one of his hands in a sort of welcoming gesture.

"He's the one that keeps knocking my books onto the floor at every opportunity," Francis replied airily. "Perhaps he should ingratiate himself to me a little."

"Yes, well, he won't do that. If the two of you are to be friends, the effort will have to come from your end. So, treats?" James stood and fetched the meat scraps he had procured specifically from the butcher for Junior. As soon as he returned to the parlor with them, Junior appeared at his feet, meowing plaintively and passing between his ankles affectionately. James held the meat out towards Francis, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"And what has he done to deserve a treat today?"

James frowned and looked between Francis and Junior a couple times before he said, "Well, look at him. He's being an exceedingly sweet boy." He gestured for Francis to take the treats.

Tempted as Francis was to protest that begging for treats shouldn't be the way for an animal to receive treats, James' hopeful look was too much for Francis to deny, proper animal training be damned. With a sigh, he stood and took the treats from James, who smiled encouragingly at him, and then at Junior. Francis laughed fondly; as ridiculous as James had become in regards to the cat, Francis found he enjoyed the sweetness the small creature had brought out in James. Francis liked how often James smiled at Junior's antics, and how James seemed so peaceful when Junior sat on him and purred. Francis didn't really like the cat himself, but he did like how much James loved the thing. After seeing James in so much pain and desolation, being able to see him happy and at peace was a sign to Francis that his life was good.

So, to please James, he stooped to give Junior his treat. Immediately threatened, Junior dashed under the kitchen table and glared at Francis.

"Move a little slower this time," James advised. "You spooked him."

Francis supposed it made sense that James would want him to try again, and though it seemed to Francis a lost cause, he would try again for James' sake.

He knelt slowly in front of the cat, and Junior watched him warily all the way down. Francis extended his hand slowly, palm open and meat resting easily accessible upon it. Junior wiggled forwards tentatively and sniffed the very tips of Francis’ fingers before moving closer and licking the meat up into his mouth. He immediately removed himself from Francis, watching him warily.

Francis glanced over to James to see if he was satisfied; James beamed down at him.

“Progress!” he crowed.

This “progress” as James put it was short-lived. That, or it was simply such a miniscule shift in the tenor of Francis’ relationship with Junior that it was merely imperceptible. Just a few hours later, Junior was hid in the depths of James’ room, a flash of glowing eyes sometimes being glimpsed from within the gloom.

James seemed not to mind this seeming step backward; perhaps he was of the mind that progress should be so incremental so as not to be noticed whatsoever. Francis didn’t mind, though. James wore a smile for the rest of the night and spoke loftily about “next steps” in bettering the friendship between his two flatmates.

The next step seemed to involve more of the first step: offering Junior treats when he certainly had done nothing to earn them. Francis did not comment every time as to the shortsightedness of such a plan, but he did give James a look that communicated the idea. James brushed him off each time easily, smiling in such a way that any of Francis' protests quickly melted under the warmth of such a look.

Every day, sometimes even twice a day, Francis gave Junior treats. For weeks, their interaction was as it was that first night: tense, terse, and abbreviated. It was a mere transaction. Junior received meat scraps, and in turn, Francis received James’ lovely warm smile. Sometimes even a hand clasped upon his shoulder. Francis would graze his fingers over James’, encouraging the touch to linger as long as he liked.

It took nearly two weeks, but eventually, Junior stopped fleeing whenever Francis entered a room. Now, he simply darted beneath the nearest furniture, peering out furtively from below it, little more than a flash of eyes and fur.

“Look, it’s already getting better between the two of you!” James grinned down at a fresh scratch upon his hand, given to him by Junior during his latest flight from James’ lap. He stood by the sink, damp cloth in his hand as he dabbed at the blood.

“He still runs at the sight of me,” Francis remarked dryly, casting a glance under James’ low chair, where he caught a glimpse of brown fur.

“Yes, but he no longer retreats to my room. Look, he’s just under my chair.”

“I see him. Still, I’m not certain how we can really call this progress.”

“Come now, Francis!” James finished cleaning the scratch and turned to Francis. “You mustn’t get so discouraged. The two of you will be getting along before you know it. Perhaps he’ll even curl up upon your lap some day.”

Francis privately thought that he would rather not have a cat upon him—Junior in particular. Francis had witnessed what those claws could do to a man’s thighs, and his current proximity to them was plenty.

“Here, let us see if we can coax him out from under there,” James suggested, approaching Francis with a bit of meat scrap in his hand.

Francis did not sigh. Why should he? James was smiling at him with a gentle hopefulness that Francis couldn’t refuse. He presented his hand and took from James the meat, then turned to the chair under which Junior hid.

“Junior,” he called. He did not mimic the tones that James took with the cat—plaintive, like one might talk to a babe—but addressed it rather how he would address a man. “I’ve a treat for you.”

A tiny pink nose appeared from beneath the chair, twitching as it scented the air. A single paw shot out of the darkness, claws flexing on the carpet.

“You’ll have to come here for it. I’ll not place meat upon our carpet. It‘s in rough enough shape from your claws.”

Another paw joined the first, both outstretched like an errant claw could snag the edge of the treat so Junior might drag it back into the depths of his hiding place. Francis exchanged a look with James.

“He’s quite lazy.”

“I’ll have you refrain from insulting my sweet boy.”

Francis laughed, his free hand instinctively touching James’ elbow affectionately. James’s face broke open in a smile, his own hand coming up to rest on Francis’ elbow. They smiled at each other, hands lingering and itching to move up farther, when a meow at their feet took their attention from the other. Francis dropped his hand, but James did not.

At their feet sat Junior, sitting primly and politely with his large paws arranged neatly. He meowed again, a plaintive complaining whine, almost mournful, and stared pointedly at Francis.

Francis broke into laughter. “Oh, this?” He held up the meat, and Junior’s little shoulders shifted, as if he were getting ready to jump. Francis lifted it a little higher, far out of Junior’s reach. He still sat poised for action, his paws taking on a wider stance. James swayed in a little closer, his hand dropping from Francis’ elbows, fingertips just barely brushing along Francis’ waist.

“Do not tease him, Francis,” James said quietly. 

“Very well,” Francis acquiesced, largely because James’ grazing touch had shut down most of his ability to argue or, indeed, formulate intelligent thought at all.

Francis bent, hand outstretched to Junior, who leapt immediately to his feet and took from Francis the meat scrap.

Unlike previous instances, Junior did not flee to hide as soon as the treat was acquired. Today, he sat at Francis and James’ feet, devouring the small morsel as quickly as his small cat jaw would allow. Within moments, the meat was gone. Rather than dash under the nearest piece of furniture, Junior sat back up and looked at the pair of men with a pleading expression. He meowed again.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” James said, clasping Francis by the shoulder, his arm a warm line across Francis’ back. “Look, he’s not running away!”

Francis was pleased by James’ arm around him, but not enough to stay his teasing tongue. “Only because he anticipates another treat.”

“Perhaps you should give him one as a reward for staying in your presence?”

Francis barked a laugh. “Is my presence truly so tiresome that rewards are necessary to brave tolerating it? What reward are you given?”

James grinned down at him, squeezing his shoulder gently. “Your company does not tax me, Francis, and it is itself my reward for surviving the Arctic.” Francis canted his eyes downward, the pleased smile upon his face bashful under the intensity of James’ focus. James patted his shoulder once more, then dropped his arm to walk to the kitchen. “Come now, one more treat.”

They passed quite some time in this manner, with Francis making slow progress in winning Junior over, making concessions that he would never make for a pet because it pleased James so much. Every new development between himself and the cat deepened the crows feet on James’ face, and the sight of it always warmed the parts of Francis that at times still felt the Arctic’s chill.

So it came that one drizzly Thursday afternoon of little consequence, Junior knocked over a large vase, sending it to shatter upon the floor and soak the rug.

“James Fitzjames Junior!” Francis scolded, at which Junior scampered away into James’ room to hide. From his spot upon the floor, where he collected shards of ceramic, James said,

“That’s not his name.”

Francis cocked an eyebrow. “No? Then for whom is he named?”

James’ hands stilled over a ceramic sliver, then resumed their steady collection. His tone was friendly and flippant, the kind that he used when he wanted Francis to think that he didn’t care. Francis had long been able to see past the facade. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree. If I’m to scold him, I should use his actual name.”

James scooped up another bit of ceramic and frowned down at it. “You must promise not to tease me.”

“Tease you? Why would I tease you, James?”

“Junior was named for you. His name is Francis Junior.”

Francis blinked, then smiled, then banished the smile from his lips. “You named him for _me_?”

“Yes. I thought he had a similar disposition.”

This did not seem to Francis to be a compliment. Junior was, as far as Francis could tell, crotchety, destructive, and unfriendly. Francis was not offended, but maintaining a straight face proved difficult. “We have a similar disposition,” he echoed, unable to erase the traces of amusement from his tone.

“Well, he…” James finally looked up, the skin around his eyes slightly strained. “He _seems_ an unfriendly misanthrope, but when you show him affection, he returns it in kind. When you prove your loyalty, he awards you with his. He is a gruff cat, but a good one.”

There was that odd warmth flowing through Francis once more, tingling through his skin much the same as sunlight on a rare sunny day. When he spoke, his voice was thicker with emotion than he would like.

“Well, James. That is very... “ He searched for the right words as James watched him, a cautious hope in his eyes. Francis smiled, mostly to himself, then crossed the distance between himself and James. He held out a hand, which James took, and helped his friend to his feet. He did not release James’ hand, instead tightening his grip upon it as he looked up into James’ eyes. “I am lucky to have a man such as you in my life, James.”

James huffed a tiny, almost-laugh, a reflexive smile claiming his lips.

“I believe that is my line.”

“No, I am most certainly the lucky one here.”

“I disagree. There are not many that would put up with my indulgences with Junior such as you have. You’ve been far more sporting than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” Francis dismissed. “It makes you happy.”

Francis might not have thought it possible, but James’ expression softened even further. His deep brown eyes glowed from within as they stood, taking each other in, hands clasped in the quiet of their flat.

James brushed his knuckles along Francis’ cheekbone, a slow, tentative caress that began at his hairline and trailed to the apple of his cheek. Francis caught the hand and brought it to his lips. He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to James’ knuckles.

“See? I was right to name him for you,” James breathed.

Francis smiled against his skin, fluttering his eyes open to look up at James through his eyelashes.

“I’m afraid even with your touching explanation, I fail to see the resemblance.”

A few hours later, after dinner was eaten and the kitchen cleaned, James and Francis settled into their respective chairs in front of the fire. They moved the chairs closer together, such that they could easily reach the other as they sat. It was a chill evening, so Francis pulled a blanket to cover his lap as he sunk into his chair. He sighed and closed his eyes happily. James’ hand closed briefly over his own, and he smiled into the black of his eyelids. With a squeeze, James’ hand left, and Francis heard the sound of a book’s pages turning. He sat and enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the gentle susurrus of James reading.

After a few moments, James gently shook Francis’ hand, so Francis obligingly opened his eyes.

“Look,” James whispered, indicating his own lap. There sat Junior, curled up into a neat ball on James’ lap, his nose tucked beneath his tail and his eyes little more than another set of lines upon his face. Francis laced his fingers through James’ and lifted the hand to press a kiss to their intertwined fingers. 

“At last, you get to enjoy both my company and Junior’s at the same time.”

“Yes,” James said fondly, running his free hand over Junior’s wide, flat head. Junior shifted, sinking further into James’ lap as if he had no bones at all underneath that tabby fur. James looked over at Francis, meeting his gaze with a deep fondness. “I’d say it was well worth the effort.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on twitter @jennaflare_


End file.
